


elysium

by acreatureofhope



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acreatureofhope/pseuds/acreatureofhope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you accept the forgiveness of others when you can't even forgive yourself? A (still growing) collection of one-shots about post-redemption Ben Solo, his relationship with Rey, and everyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hold out against the night

There were moments where it seemed as though he would never be able to escape from the ghosts of his past, moments when he awoke from nightmares, face twisted into an expression he hadn't truly worn in years, his heart pounding in his chest— _do not forget, do not forget, do not forget_ , the beat whispered, as though forgetting was even the slightest possibility.

Each time the dreams pulled him out of his slumber, she was there beside him running her fingers through his hair and whispering to him, cradling him against her so that he could hear her heart beating, its own rhythm calling something entirely different to his own— _you are here, you are important, you are loved_ , words that she whispered to him in time with her heartbeats.

(No matter how many times she told him, he wasn't sure that he would ever be able to believe it.)

Forgiveness was something that he still struggled with, something that he couldn't seem to grant to himself. Others told him that he couldn't blame himself entirely, that he had been manipulated and coerced and that while he might have been the one landing the blows, someone else was guiding his hand through the process. He couldn't bring himself to believe them.

His mother had found it in herself to love him once again—he refused to believe her when she said that she had never stopped, despite everything—and yet he could not find the strength to extend the same courtesy on his own part. The moment she'd seen him stepping off that ship, torn and bloody and broken, so incredibly _broken_ , she'd reached out and taken him into her arms as though his blade had not been the one to run his father—her husband—through. He had crumbled, and she crooned the same three words to him that had preempted his sleep each night in childhood, words that bore a weight he wasn't sure he could carry— _I love you._

He couldn't forgive himself.

His father's best friend, the one who had become his uncle in all but blood, hadn't acknowledged him for weeks, until one night when his nightmares forced him out onto the paths around their complex, fear and desperation driving him. His uncle had found him, beating his fist against the healed blaster wound in his side, and gathered him up into a hug that told him _I know you're sorry, I know you want to take it back, I know you miss him, I am here for you, do not be afraid._

Fear still gripped him, and he could not forgive himself.

The boy he'd played with as a child, the boy who had become a man he had tortured, had first looked at him as though he was a ghost, only to extend an invitation for a seat in the mess hall a few moments later. The gaze that locked onto him every time they passed one another held no desire for retribution, but instead a strange sadness that seemed to say _What happened to you, where did you go, why did you leave, I wish you had stayed_.

He wished so, too, and could not forgive himself.

The one who had escaped, the one who had found compassion and abandoned the mission for a better one before he had even taken his first steps on that path, regarded him first with fear and suspicion, and then with an understanding that said _I know how you feel, I felt it too, you did what was right in the end, we both did._

Maybe he had, but he was unable to forgive himself.

His mother's brother, his first master and uncle, faced him upon his arrival, his return, with a calm that could only have been won through years of struggle. There was no anger or pain pressed upon him, but instead a crushing sadness and compassion that read _I failed you as my father failed me, I forgave my father, I forgive you._

He had failed himself, and he could not forgive.

The ship that had been his first exposure to flight stood apart from the others, unmoving unless it was taken out by one who had always flown it and another who had saved herself and others with its help. His father's ghost seemed to haunt the corridors and watch him as he walked past, the gentle pressure on his mind telling him _I know why you did it, I could have stopped it, I do not blame you, I will always love you._

He still could not forgive himself.

Each time they said his name, the three-letter word falling from their lips like it had always been his and never been abandoned, it settled upon him and brought back memories of a young, dark-haired boy clinging to his uncle's fur when he was scared and sitting on his father's lap as they flew, laughing. They had no doubts, none of them, but he could not help but doubt himself.

He did not know how to face the demons that haunted him, the monsters that dogged his every step and closed in on him as the night blanketed the planet, the ghosts of the past that he was not truly free from within his own mind. He did not know how to face his own fear.

When he began to fall, she would take his hand, cup his cheek, stand on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips, and smile at him as though he had never harmed her, never harmed her friends, never harmed his—their—family or countless others across the galaxy, but he knew she had not forgotten. He couldn't blame her.

He could, however, blame himself.

No matter how much time passed, he couldn't rid himself of the fear that one day they would come to see him as he saw himself, return to their bitter hatred, and cast him out. He wouldn't blame them if they did.

And yet— _and yet_ —there was one person who he believed had no lingering doubts in their mind about his character, no fear of him, and that meant he could not let go and succumb to his own  terror.

He could not let go, because the boy who ran out to clutch his legs after every mission, so excited about his return, who settled into bed each night between the two people who had brought him into the world so that they might read him a story, who had his father's dark hair and his mother's eyes and fiery determination, needed his father and had no reason to fear him.

There was nothing to forgive, not there, and he would be damned if he would ever give that boy a reason to have to forgive him—that was, if he wasn't damned already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I should be going to bed and instead get an idea.
> 
> I only hate myself a little bit for the fact that my first posting on this website is from a fandom that I've literally been in for a week, but so it goes.
> 
> Also, the title comes from a song called "Elysium" by Bear's Den—the full line is "hold out against the night, guard your hope with your life, for the darkness, she will come, and you'll have nowhere left to run" and I thought it seemed fairly apropos.
> 
> If you want to find me on Tumblr where I actually post Reylo and pretty much 100% fandom stuff (fandom stuff plus fandom related musings), that blog will be itsyoutheycantlivewithout.
> 
> If you want to find me on my personal blog where there's fandom stuff (but not much Reylo) and plenty of stupid posts about my life and other things, then that blog is acreatureofhope.


	2. guard your hope with your life

He couldn't blame her for avoiding him—that had to be what she was doing, for he had only caught the briefest of glimpses of her in the month since his return. He couldn't blame her because after all, if he could, if it were possible, he would be avoiding himself.

He knew that she was aware of his presence, as their bond told him that much. It told him little else, though, and he wouldn't push it. He had invaded her thoughts against her will once, and had no desire to do so again. It seemed wrong. It _was_ wrong.

Instead, he concentrated on blocking her out, on masking his mind from hers. He made no move to block his presence, as he felt she wouldn't like it if she didn't know where he was for her own sake—her own safety—but he could block his thoughts and hers.

He didn't sleep, though, if the sun wasn't up. Nightmares clouded his unconscious mind, and he had no desire to allow her to see them. Better that he slept when she was awake and focused on something, able to block him out as she so readily seemed to. At night, he traced the paths of the complex or attempted to meditate, forcing himself to stay awake until she had risen to begin her day.

Her consciousness would brush against his own every now and then, her dreams slipping past his block to remind him that she was there. Even after everything she'd seen, her dreams were innocent compared to his own. His were marked by pain and horror, bodies dropping and his father's face before the fall. Hers were peaceful, filled with images of waves breaking and quiet forests like the one that surrounded their complex.

One night, as the memories flashed through his mind with a speed that he'd never seen before, he was startled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door.

He pushed himself up from his seat on the floor, hoping that his heartbeat would settle. It was just beginning to slow when he opened the door, only for it to speed up again once he saw who stood there.

"Rey?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

She pushed past him into the room and then whirled to face him, her arms crossed. "Can you stop doing that?"

"Stop doing what?" he asked.

"Thinking," she said, her eyes flashing. "You never stop thinking and it's driving me mad. I haven't slept for more than three hours in a row since you got here."

He couldn't help but stare at her. "I'm sorry?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't apologize. Stop thinking."

He closed the door and took a step towards her. "How am I meant to do that?"

"Stop thinking," she repeated.

He did nothing but watch her, and after a moment she shook her head and stepped forward to take his hand. At the feeling of her skin against his, he nearly flinched, but she didn't seem to notice. Instead, she pulled him to the middle of the room, and with a gentle pressure on his shoulder, she pushed him to the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

" _We_ are meditating," she said, taking a seat behind him so that her back pressed up against his.

He shifted into a meditation position, his brow furrowing. "Why are we meditating?"

"Ben?" Rey said.

"Yes," he said.

He didn't have to be looking at her to know that her expression was one of complete serenity as she said, "Shut up."

Her back shifted slightly with every breath she took, the movements even, and after a moment he shut his eyes. He matched his breathing to her own, allowing the rise and fall of her back against his to guide him. Eventually, he sunk into a level of meditative trance that he would later realize he had never achieved before that night.

He was so deeply rooted in the new calmness of his mind that he didn't notice when she stood up and left the room, the door shutting behind her with a quiet _click_.

She returned each night after that, always at the same time, and she always left once he was settled into his meditation. He would come out of it after a while and all but crawl into bed, his mind heavy with sleep, and his rest would be largely undisturbed.

One night, nearly a month after the first time that she had come to him, he couldn't help but speak as they settled on the floor (their interactions usually took place in silence—she had nothing to say, and he had nothing to ask).

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Doing what?" she asked.

"Helping me," he said. "You hate me."

She shook her head then, her unbound hair brushing against his back (it was loose in the time before she slept, he'd found). "I don't hate you. I hate what Snoke made you do, the person that he made you become, but I don't hate _you_. How am I meant to hate a person who so desperately despises themselves?" He couldn't respond, and she seemed to realize that, as her voice was soft when she spoke again. "You carry enough hatred in yourself to match the feelings of every person in the Resistance. I would not add to it."

"You hated me enough before," he said.

"I hated you when you weren't _you_ , Ben," she said. "But hatred serves no purpose, especially not now. Your mother and your uncle taught me that."

He had nothing to say to that, and he sank into his meditation as her words played over and over again in his mind.

She continued to join him each night as the weeks wore into months, and as the time passed, he came to realize that it was her presence that calmed him just as much as the meditation. He wouldn't say as much to her, though. She didn't seem to have any intention to stop meditating with him, and he wasn't going to encourage her.

Her exhaustion shocked him one night, the feeling of her mind pressing up against his much weaker as they sat back-to-back, and long before the time when she would normally get up and leave, he felt her weight bear down against his back rather than simply brushing against it. Twisting his head as far as he could, he caught sight of her head lolling on her shoulders, her expression relaxed in a way that couldn't be mistaken for anything but sleep.

He debated about whether or not he should wake her, and after a while, he shifted so that he could lift her. She stayed fast asleep as he carried her to his bed, and it wasn't until he made to walk away that her hand shot out to grab his.

"Where're you going?" she asked, her voice heavy with sleep.

"To sleep," he said.

She tugged on his hand. "Sleep here."

He watched her for a moment before he laid down beside her, careful to leave plenty of space in between them. The only point of contact was their joined hands, and she seemed unwilling to let go as she returned to sleep with him following close behind.

That became a new part of their routine as her Jedi training wore her down day after day. It hadn't been so bad before, she'd explained, but she was doing more each day and by the time she joined him for meditation, it was all that she could do to stay awake. As a result, she often wound up sleeping in his bed, a reasonable distance from him.

His dreams grew even calmer with her there beside him each night, and he found himself better-rested than he had been in years.

That was, he was better-rested until one night when a dream shocked him into reality. He sat up abruptly, the blankets falling around him to expose his bare chest to the cool night air, his eyes darting frantically and breath coming in gasps.

She sat up beside him, clutching the blankets to her, as he bowed his head and shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to keep the tears from falling.

"Ben?" she whispered.

"I killed you," he choked out. "He told me to kill you, and I did."

There was no need for him to specify who "he" was. She knew, and she sat there in silence beside him for a moment before she sighed.

"Oh, Ben." Her arms wrapped around him, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder as her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. "You didn't kill me. I'm right here."

His shoulders shook as he attempted to rein in his emotions, and all the while she whispered those words to him—"I'm here, Ben, I'm here."

Eventually, she pulled him down beside her, and he didn't fight it. She tucked herself against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder and her hand over his heart, and when she showed no signs of moving, he allowed his arm to wrap around her and his hand to rest on her hip.

He awoke in the morning to find that she was still in the same position that she'd been in when they fell asleep, her breath fanning across his chest. Rather than disturb her, he stayed where he was, his gaze locked on the ceiling.

He hadn't come back for her, but for her he would stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just going to be a one-shot collection, I've decided. Not even sorry. Also, this thing is a mess, but that's mostly because I was writing it in my head at work today and had to get it down ASAP once I got home. 
> 
> I'm debating about exploring the contents of this one-shot further and possibly writing a multi-chapter based off of it, but I don't want to do that unless people would be interested in that because I have more than enough to do already, so just let me know in the comments if you'd like me to do that. I'm sure I'll keep writing for them regardless, but I don't want to dive into a multi-chap unless I know people will read it.
> 
> If you read my note on "hold out against the night" you'll know that the title of this comes from the same song (it's the following line), and if I do write a multi-chapter, that title will probably come from this song too ("Elysium" by Bear's Den). It's just so stupidly good.
> 
> Thanks so much for your feedback on my last one-shot, and I hope you guys enjoy this one!
> 
> For fandom blogging and a decent percentage of Reylo, you can find me on Tumblr at itsyoutheycantlivewithout.
> 
> For some fandom blogging, a lot of randomness, no Reylo, and plenty of stupid posts about my life, you can find me on Tumblr at acreatureofhope.


	3. i don't want to know who i am without you

It took a long time for them to become anything more than friends—or at least, to admit that it had become something else. Her presence in his bed at night was so normal, so natural, after all that they'd been through together to quell his nightmares, that he never questioned it.

He knew that there were those on base who thought that she was insane, that he was a soulless, heartless beast who would one day turn and destroy everything around him as he'd destroyed so many things before, but she ignored them. He tried his best to ignore them too, but sometimes it wasn't so simple.

It got harder when she was called away, and even more difficult when Poe and Finn were called away too. They'd all become important to him, found a way to make him feel like a human being again rather than a monster, and when they weren't there to remind him of his own humanity, all he could think about was his own guilt.

He was guilty, so guilty, and terrified of it. There were so many terrible things that he'd done, so many lives he'd taken and families he'd ripped apart, that he couldn't stop blaming himself. Even with those who insisted that he had changed, he couldn't help but fear that he hadn't changed at all, that they would be proven wrong by his actions.

She found him one night, returned late from a scouting mission to another part of the galaxy that she'd been sent on with Finn and Poe to find that he was awake, sitting up in bed with his head clutched in his hands and the blankets falling around him, his room—their room?—dark save for a tiny glimmer of starlight coming through the gap in the curtains.

He could hear her shedding her clothing, swapping her robes for a shirt of his—she'd started stealing them a while ago—but he didn't acknowledge her presence. All he could focus on were the images playing back in his mind, the nightmares that he'd lived and caused, the pounding of his heart unwilling to slow down.

She climbed into bed beside him, slid the blankets up over her legs, and reached out to remove his hands from his face, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Ben," she said, her voice soft. "Come back to me, would you?"

He took one long, shuddering breath, and then another, and then another, as she rubbed small circles on the backs of his hands with her fingers, her eyes glinting as she watched him in the darkness.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" she asked.

He wanted to tell her, _needed_ to tell her, needed to get it out, but he couldn't. When he opened his mouth, there was a lump in his throat, a barrier that the words just couldn't get past.

She shifted slightly so that she could press her lips against his shoulder for a moment. "I'm not going to tell you that you shouldn't be scared, you know."

He lifted his head so that he could look at her. She sat beside him, clutching his hands, her hair falling down around her shoulders and her gaze locked on his face.

"I know it doesn't help," she said. "All those people trying to tell you what you should or shouldn't feel, what you can or can't be." She shrugged after a moment. "They did that to me too, but it didn't change the fact that I was terrified. Still am, sometimes."

He twisted his hands so that he could lace his fingers with hers, squeezing once to let her know that he was listening even if he couldn't find the words to say anything.

"It's a curious juxtaposition," she said. "I'm terrified of trusting people because I don't want them to leave me, but in order for them to not leave me, I have to trust them. I know Poe and Finn won't leave me, or Luke, or Leia, but I don't always remember that."

He found his voice then as he shifted around to face her. "I won't leave you."

"I know," she said. "Really, I do. But sometimes I forget. Healing isn't a linear process, Ben. It takes time to move past the things that happen to us and the things that we do."

He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking from the shadow of her face down to the spot where their knees touched. "Everyone makes it seem so easy."

"It's not," she said. "Not really. Some days it is. Some days it feels fine. Other days, it's like the wound is fresh and everything is falling apart all over again." She reached up to brush her hair out of her face. "It took me a while to realize that I didn't have to be who I was in order for things to be better."

"But aren't you?" he asked. "You've always been so... Light."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'm light, but there's plenty of darkness in me too. Some parts of me are always going to be a little bit scarred, but that's all right. They're a part of who I am, and they don't make me any more or less me."

"I don't deserve you," he whispered.

She shuffled closer to him, tucking herself under his arm so that she could wrap her arms around his torso. He pressed his lips to her hair, trying to reassure himself that she was there, that she didn't hate him, that they were together and that wouldn't change.

"None of us deserve anyone," she said. "And yet we're all still here, aren't we?" He felt her breath brush across his skin, her body fitting perfectly next to his. "We can still love, even if we feel like we're broken."

"But what if—" He stopped.

"You're not broken," she said, correctly predicting the words he hadn't said. "Not even a little bit. Maybe a little bruised and battered, but not broken." She retracted one of her arms so that she could trace her fingers over the scars that littered his chest and shoulders, before reaching up to gently follow the line of the scar that she'd left on his face.

"It feels like a lifetime since you gave me that," he said.

"That's because it has been a lifetime," she said. "You aren't who you were then, and neither am I. We've both changed, and that's a good thing."

He pushed away from her then, throwing off the blankets and climbing out of bed to pace back and forth before the window. "How can it be a good thing? How can any of this be good?" He was breathing heavily again, his eyes darting back and forth, his heart racing. "I did so many bad things, Rey, so many terrible things. I deserve none of what I have now. I was a monster, and I'll always be a monster."

"No, you won't," she said. "And you aren't." She moved into a meditation position, her hands resting on her knees. "Other people have been telling you who to be for so long, telling you what you are, but that's not who you have to be. You aren't cruel, and you're not a monster." There was a pause before she continued. "The fact that you're concerned about how terrible you were tells me that you aren't that way anymore."

He stopped moving, watching as she got out of bed and padded across the room towards him. She lifted her hand to brush his hair back, tilting her head up so that she could make eye contact with him. In front of him, she was so small, so fragile in appearance, but he knew that within her was enough strength to change an entire galaxy.

"We aren't light or dark, Ben," she said, her voice gentle. "All of us are caught somewhere in between. The things that happen to us don't make us good or evil. It's how we respond to those things that determines our humanity, and you?" She shrugged. "You're as human as they come."

Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and he swallowed hard in an attempt to keep them from falling. She was looking at him, her expression soft, the sincerity in her eyes unquestionable, and he couldn't help the words that fell from his lips, words that he'd thought a million times since his return but never had the nerve to say.

"I love you."

She smiled then, her nose crinkling. "That's my whole point." He stiffened then, and her smile faded at his response. She stepped forward to hug him, her head fitting perfectly under his chin. "I knew, Ben. I knew the second you figured it out. You aren't exactly subtle."

"How did—"

"It's the way you look at me," she said. "The way you talk to me. You love so many people, Ben, and you try so hard to protect us from this monster that you've let so many others convince you that you are, but what you never see is that you help us fight off our own demons." She shuffled closer to him, sighing deeply as he embraced her. "Sometimes all it takes to keep things from going back to the way they were is the knowledge that someone out there, anyone, loves us enough to let us change."

He mumbled his agreement, and she chuckled then, her head shaking. "You have so many of those people in your life. You just haven't realized it yet."

"Name one," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Leia," she said. "Luke. Chewie. Poe, and Finn even. Probably some of the others too, the ones who know you. And you have me."

"You?" he asked.

He didn't have to be looking at her to know that she was rolling her eyes as she said, "Out of all of that, of course you only get the last bit." She kissed his chest then, her lips brushing over the scar that slashed across his sternum. "I do love you, more than you know."

"I don't understand," he said. "I hurt you."

"We were at war," she said. "And you were trying to convince yourself that you could be something truly terrible, but you can't, and you aren't." She shrugged. "Besides, I still beat you, and I'm easily a hundred times more capable of taking you on now than I was then. We're evenly matched, even if it doesn't look like it. Even Luke said so."

He shook his head, and she reached up to rest her hand against his cheek. "You don't get to argue with me about this one, Ben. I know how I feel, I know what I think of you, and I know that this isn't a question of us deserving one another." Her voice quieted. "You saw me as something strong, even when we were enemies, when all I'd ever done is see myself as something weak and not worth loving."

"But you are," he said. "Worth loving, I mean."

"And so are you," she said. "Do you really think I would still be coming here, night after night, if I didn't think there was something in you that was worth it?"

"I don't—"

"I wouldn't," she said, cutting him off. "But there is something in you that made me come back, and it wasn't just the Force bond. I see it so often, and you don't even realize how good you are, Ben, because you're so caught up in what you used to be."

"What I used to be was horrifying," he said.

"Yes, it was," she said. "There's nothing that you or I or anyone else can say or do to change that. What you _were_ was horrifying, but what you _are?"_ She traced her thumb over his bottom lip as his hand curved around her hip. "What you are is something completely different, and it all has to do with the fact that at heart, your most basic instinct is to love, not hate."

He didn't say anything then. She stepped back and took his hand, leading him over to the bed. They climbed under the blankets once more, and he let her pull him down beside her without any protest.

She tucked herself against his side, yawning before she pillowed her head on his shoulder. He could hear sleep making its way into her voice when she spoke. "I didn't really have a home before, Ben, but this? Your mom and Luke and Poe and Finn and Chewie and you? This is home, and it wouldn't be home without you."

He wrapped his arm around her, tightening his grip on her for a moment to let her know that he'd heard. When she smiled, he could feel it against his shoulder.

"I mean it in every sense of the phrase, Ben," she whispered.

"What?" he asked.

"Love you," she mumbled as she dozed off. "Always."

The guilt was still eating at him, tugging at his heart and mind, but as her breath evened out across his chest and her words replayed in his thoughts, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

Sometimes the first step towards your own forgiveness comes from having someone else see the things that you're too lost to see in yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a mess, but I'm an exhausted human and I had the idea so (as usual), I had to write it.
> 
> I've been thinking about my own character arc a lot lately (talking to the person who always saw the good in you when you never saw anything but the bad will do that to you), and really, in my experience, what Rey said is the truth—having someone there who recognizes all of the things that you can't see in yourself can be the thing that allows everything to move forward. That's what did it for me, knowing that there was someone in my life who knew I was strong enough to make my own choices even if I didn't feel like it or know it at the time. Once I realized that, that's when things really started to get better.
> 
> This is why I ship Reylo, coincidentally—it's not about Rey saving him. It's about the two of them helping to save each other from themselves. Rey has abandonment issues, obviously, and I don't even know what all of Kylo/Ben's issues are yet (none of us do) but there's clearly a lot of them. She's further along than he is in this story, just because she's had longer to start working on the things that have caused her so much pain, but they're there to help each other. They can understand each other because they've both got things that aren't so simple to just get over.
> 
> (I hate the phrase "get over it," to be quite honest. I hate the idea that we "get over" these things. We don't get over them. We move on from them. We pick up and we keep going, but that doesn't mean that we just leave it behind. Moving on is a process. Getting over it implies that you climb over it once and then you're done, but that's not how it works. We climb over the mountain once, and then we walk for a little while, and then we climb another mountain, and the mountains might get smaller but they never really disappear.)
> 
> Title comes from a Bear's Den song (shocking, I know), though this one is from Agape (I'm so scared of losing you/and I don't know what I can do about it/about it/so tell me how long, love, before you go/and leave me here on my own/I know it/I don't want to know who I am without you). Beautiful song, great band, I highly recommend them, and I hope you enjoyed what my brain managed to produce on five and a half hours' sleep.
> 
> I'm going to bed now.


End file.
